


Accentuate the Positive

by Pink_Galaxias



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Depression, M/M, Stockholm Syndrome, Toxic Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:28:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29353476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_Galaxias/pseuds/Pink_Galaxias
Summary: After surviving an encounter with the Reaper, Jack knows what he should; he should cooperate with the police department, be honest with his psychiatrist and welcome the support of family and friends. But all Jack wants to do is behimagain.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	Accentuate the Positive

**Author's Note:**

> If you recognise this: SURPRISE! It’s back… Lol. Sorry for cancelling myself.

Jack is used to seeing doctors.

They treat him like any other patient, with superficial sympathy and curt professionalism. His time with them is brief, filled with talks of promoting health, prescription refills and ends with scheduling another appointment. It is a revolving door he is caught in, the norm of being middle aged he justifies.

Doctors are busy people, and people like Jack come a dime a dozen. He tries to not let it bother him. But it makes him feel small when he has to remind the doctor who he is, and why he’s here every visit.

-

Jack is used to dealing with doctors.

“How did it make you feel?” Dr Angela Zeigler asks, sitting across him.

Doctors of a different kind.

He shifts uncomfortably in the armchair and glances at the clock, another half-hour. He wants to say  _ abandoned _ . “Glad. I couldn’t wait to come home.”

“A desire to return to normalcy?” 

“Of course,” he sounds too scripted even for his own liking. “I only want to go back to the way things were.”

Dr Zeigler’s face does not reveal her thoughts or suspicions (if she has any), and her smile is soft and serene as always. “It can be frustrating having to attend these sessions,” her tone is somehow softer than her smile, “it is understandably conflicting when I ask you to confide in me knowing I have to assess you. But our discussions will remain confidential, including your feelings, thoughts and experiences with the Reaper.”

Jack nods. “Doctor-Patient confidentiality. I get it.” 

He looks to the abstract artwork displayed behind her. Anything to avoid eye contact. The silence grows between them and he swears it’s a ploy psychiatrists use to get nutcases talking. 

He hates that it works. “He kept me blindfolded the entire time. We didn’t interact much.”

“Interactions are not limited to sight.” 

He bites back an inappropriate laugh. At this point the good doctor is giving him the benefit of the doubt as to whether he is telling the truth or not. Another glance to the clock and he swears time works differently within these walls.

-

He follows the footpath to the three-bedroom house. It feels empty since Vincent left, and quiet since Hana moved out. It’s still home Jack supposes.

With everyone moving on he cannot help but feel stagnant in comparison. It is an effort to get out of bed. But it is better than wandering into the rabbit hole of how he lost them both, even if it means his fingers too often find the neck of the nearest bottle.

In front of the door he lets himself in without needing his keys. It isn’t unlocked because it’s a good neighbourhood, it’s unlocked in case  _ he _ decides to visit.

Jack’s hopefulness is embarrassing. All too like a child eagerly waiting for a visit from the Tooth Fairy. But at least Jack’s prospective visitor exists, the papers and news remind him every so often.

He walks through the hallway and the barely used living room. The house is a lifeless shell of happier memories, and loneliness resurfaces with a mixture of disappointment, a dangerous cocktail. The hard liquor hidden in the kitchen cabinet gains its familiar appeal. It beckons for him, and Jack makes a beeline for it.

But something inconspicuous stops him in his tracks; a cup of coffee on the kitchen table.

He eyes it longer than he should, as if it were a foreign artefact.

The notion of  _ him  _ sneaking in to brew coffee is a funny one. Endearingly domestic and hilariously ordinary. Jack’s lips curl upwards, the concept distracts him from his miserable thoughts, albeit briefly.

When he touches the cup it is cold. There’s another cup, empty drying by the sink. It is a polite gesture to come home to, but it serves to inform him that he was too late.

Disappointment in himself ignites and it flares the simmering loneliness. Dumping the cold coffee in the sink, he reaches for the cabinet ready to abandon sobriety. But the whisky he hid is gone, and in its place a newly opened bag of premium coffee.

His hand still reaching out for something no longer there settles on the coffee. He inspects it, words regarding its premium make and quality seek to convince him.

He lets out a defeated sigh, and turns on the coffee machine for the first time in a while.

-

The fridge is empty. 

The freezer on the other hand is filled to the brim with frozen meals. Jack would argue - if he had someone to argue with, that frozen meals are more affordable, time efficient and nutritious (if one did not settle for the cheapest range).

Even with the variety he does not dwell on choice, grabbing whatever is first within reach. Tearing open the thin cardboard packaging, he pops open the microwave. He would have tossed in his frozen dinner too, but there is already something there.

Something he did not place.

The dish is covered with aluminium foil, the soft light of the microwave gives it an almost angelic glow. He removes the aluminium foil to expect its contents. It’s a hearty stew, and from the smell of it has more ingredients than Jack has in his whole kitchen. He removes the foil and heats it in the microwave, watching the dish rotate with every low hum.

It’s too much for one person. He broods over the idea of missing another visit.

There’s the sound of the front door swinging open. “Dad! Are you home?”

He recognises the voice and moves as if she plans to vanish again. He staggers to a stop in the hallway, in front of her.

It’s been three years since he’s last seen her, but some things don’t change. Her favourite colour is still pink, the jacket and matching luggage set attest to it.

Unsure how to greet her, he settles with answering her question. “Yeah, I’m just heating dinner. Did you want some?”

It must have been just the sight of him that has Hana crashing into him. She clings onto him tightly. It’s barely a muffle when Jack hears her. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

It feels like an old wound has been pulled open. As old as it was, it was still raw. It makes him feel vulnerable and exposed, because he missed this too. But it feels foreign and Jack rather settle with what he knows. He pulls away from Hana.

She wipes the tears that threaten to drop at the corner of her eyes. “You need to remember to lock the door.”

He looks to the front door. It is locked, double-locked now. “Sorry. The mind is not as sharp as it used to be.” He picks up the heavier pink luggage and heads upstairs towards Hana’s old bedroom.

Hana smiles, carrying her smaller luggage behind him. “Accepting old age? Even stopped dyeing your hair blond.”

He refrains from mentioning that he only stopped going blond because  _ he  _ likes Jack’s natural colour. Self-acceptance is a more socially acceptable motive.

They set Hana’s belongings in her room and head down to the kitchen.

“That smells so good!” Hana takes a seat at the kitchen table. “I didn’t know you cooked.” She glances impressively at Jack when he places the bowl in front of her.

“I didn’t make it…” The realisation that an explanation is expected dawns on him. He settles with a half-truth. “A friend did.”

“A friend?” 

Jack nods, and takes a seat opposite her with his own bowl.

Hana takes an enthusiastic mouthful. “Well, keep them around. We need to eat like this more often.”

The remark sparks an idea. That maybe he could rebuild some semblance of a normal family with  _ him  _ and Hana. It would be nice. 

Hana clears her throat, garnering his attention. He watches her breach the topic with caution as if he was a landmine. “I told Vincent you’re safe.”

It does falter Jack’s mood. What happened to him is no secret, it’s been broadcasted everywhere, to the extent everyone seems to at least know of him. A survivor who escaped the Reaper. What the public does not know is that he didn’t escape, he was let go.

“I’d rather you not tell him about me.”

Hana presses her lips together and down casts her eyes. Jack hates seeing her vibrance diminish. She’s back now, giving him a second chance, and he’s already ruining it.

He should be mending these bridges.

“Is he- how is he?” It is all he can muster but it’s a start.

“He’s doing okay.” Hana says, playing with her food. “He travels a lot for work. I don’t see him much either, except for the occasional video calls.”

Jack nods. It is better than him. He’s had nominal interactions with Hana over the past few years. “It’s good that he’s doing good…” he mentally facepalms himself, “just make sure you let him know you’re here.”

The nod and faint curl of Hana’s lip has Jack considering he is at least taking a step in the right direction.

With dinner done they do the dishes together, Jack doing the washing and Hana the drying.

“I’ll be staying here for a few weeks, maybe a month or two. If that’s okay.” Hana’s eyes are on him, watching for any minuscule reaction. “I’ll let Vincent know. He’ll be glad about it actually.”

Jack knows she’s only staying out of concern for his own wellbeing, and the Vincent comment was to better sell the proposition. “What about work?” Jack asks.

“That is the beauty of being a streamer. The internet is everywhere.” She motions theatrically with a wave of her free hand.

He nods approvingly. Hana staying is more than okay. Even if it means doors will have to be locked now, not that locked doors had ever been a problem before.

-

“I’ll see you in the afternoon!” Hana yells out the car, “love you!”

Jack waves goodbye, his lips slightly pulled upwards by the role reversal. Once she’s driving away he heads into the building complex.

Hana is not a morning person, but she gets up early enough to drive him to work before peak hour gets severe. He knows she does it just to have some more time with him,  he can’t run away from conversations in a car, though she insists it is because she needs the car during the day.

When she caught on the fridge situation, she added that to her list of interventions. Jack rather they settle for takeout than Hana’s culinary misadventures, ‘but it is killing two birds with one stone’ Hana had argued; home cooked meals (that are gradually becoming palatable) while simultaneously streaming new content.

At some point Hana noticed he is easily swayed when she acts selfishly. He won’t ever tell her it stems from his guilt for being a bad father, because as grateful as he was for having Hana back, he would be lying if he said it was her return he has been waiting for.

He sits in his cubicle staring at the computer screen. It is here the days of  _ his  _ absence really sink in.

It leaves Jack feeling lonely again.

-

Jack has known Ana before she was Captain of the police precinct. There was a time when they both spoke of joining the Academy together, but plans have a way of going astray. While Ana followed through, he settled for marriage and a ‘safer job’ as Vincent had called it.

He lived vicariously through Ana. Their times together, filled with talks of her days with fellow detectives. He listened to it all, from the monotonous to the uncanny and unusual. But he was stuck on the bleachers, and like anyone on the bleachers he yearned for more. Just not in this manner...

He sits at the steel table in the dull interrogation room. Sitting opposite him is not his friend Ana, but Captain Amari.

“I was hesitant to show you these.” Her good eye moves from Jack to the three large photos on the table between them. In each photo were two victims. A total of six bodies. Their faces unrecognisable from the maiming they’ve been subjected to.

“What do you think, Jack?”

Their bodies are posed as if to re-create an intimate scene. Limbs delicately entangled with one another. It looks private, as if he should be averting his eyes. But he doesn’t.

“They’re supposed to be lovers?” 

She nods. “Reaper wants to be noticed.”

Jack bites his inner lip, anything he says could be incriminating for Reaper.

Ana continues, “he wants to be noticed. But not by us.” She gestures towards her uniform. 

Jack feels the intensity of her gaze and keeps his eyes firmly on the photos to feign naivety. 

Her voice is steady, as if daring Jack to contest her. “He is sending someone a message and I may have just delivered it.”

Jack turns his eyes away from the photos. Not in disgust, but something akin to love. These were made for him. It is proof  _ he _ still thinks of Jack.

“Jack.” Ana calls him back to reality. “If there is something I should know, tell me now.”

He furrows his brows. “I’m… I honestly don’t know what to make of this.”

The silence is heavy, and Ana’s scrutiny threatens to pierce through his masquerade.

But her hardened gaze turns soft. She stands from her seat and unlocks the interrogation room door. Her voice abandons its authoritative tone, and regains the maternal tone Jack is familiar with. “Do you have a ride home?”

He gets up from his seat and heads towards the door. “It’s fine, I’ve got bus money. Hana has the car for the day.”

“I’ll have someone drive you home.” She settles a friendly hand on Jack’s shoulder. “It is the least we can do for bringing you down here again.”

The person who draws the short straw in playing taxi is Sergeant Gabriel Reyes. Ana personally handpicks him amongst the sea of blue. The man is a smartass about it, agreeing to the task with snark, as if he has nothing more important to do. There is a friendly banter between the two. It tells Jack to consider Reyes an extension of Ana. That she trusts him.

The drive is silent, and Jack prefers it that way. He sits in the back of the pursuit car with the steel mesh between him and Reyes. The drive gives him time to think, to bask in the afterglow of the good news Ana has given him. It makes sense now; the murders must have reinvigorated the investigation, keeping  _ him  _ under pressure and away from Jack.

The car comes to a stop in front of his home and Jack is surprised. He had been lost in his own thoughts, that he forgot to mention directions or even an address. Sergeant Reyes exits the car to open the back-passenger door for him.

“How did you know where I live?” 

Reyes doesn’t even flinch, still holding the door open. “Ana gave me your address, and there’s a thing called GPS.” 

“Oh.” He gets out of the car feeling silly. “Of course.”

He stares at the empty house. There is a familiar warmth in his chest, and he does not feel so abandoned or alone anymore.

He must have been standing still for too long because Reyes’ hand is on his shoulder. 

“Are you okay?”

There is a feeling of security he has not felt in a long time.

“I’m fine.”

-

“Do you have your pepper-spray?” 

He swears Hana is just throwing random junk into the clutch that now refuses to close.

“Yeah, yeah.” Her attention focused on closing the petite clutch. “I’ll be back by midnight.” When it snaps closed she gives him a quick kiss on the cheek and heads towards the front door. Jack follows, amazed at how nimble she can be in heels.

He stops at the doorframe watching Hana skip towards her date’s car. Her date is a woman with bronze skin and purple highlights in her hair. The woman is friendly enough to wave at him, but there’s a mischievous quality in her smile that has Jack’s paternal instincts kicking in.

“Don’t stay out too late! We have lunch with Captain Amari at the police station tomorrow!” He watches Hana visibly cringe, he is certain she remembers. The real intent is to inform Hana’s date of their familiarity with the local police.

Hana red-faced glances at him, mouthing ‘ _ please stop’ _ and scurries into the car.

Jack smiles, watching the car drive off and he heads back into the house. Hana broadening her social circle here is a good thing, it gives her more reasons to stay in the long run.

He settles into the quiet night in his armchair with a glass of hard liquor. It is not for drowning out loneliness, this time it is strictly recreational. He enjoys the burn down his throat and warmth in his belly. It is a tightrope to walk, but it seems to be a recurring theme in his life lately.

He savours the drink and limits himself to the one glass.

When he decides to go to bed, midnight has just passed. Hana texted earlier that she will be home tomorrow morning, and while Jack was not ecstatic, at least Hana was being honest and enjoying the company she’s with. He turns the living room lights off and heads upstairs.

Walking through the dimly lit hallway, he notices in the darkness of his bedroom the window open. The gentle wind blows the curtains as if they were motioning for him to come closer..

He walks into the dark bedroom and makes his way over to the windowsill. The air is cool and the street quiet. Shutting the window and drawing the curtains together, he allows complete darkness to engulf the room.

A hand comes from behind. It pulls Jack’s forehead back exposing his throat to the air. The angle makes him lose balance, but his back meets the hard torso of the man holding the knife to his neck.

“Reaper.” Jack whispers, leaning back into the warmth.

“They’ve stopped patrolling your house.” Reaper’s breath tickles his neck. “Have you missed me, Jackie?”

The edge of the knife threatens to draw blood, keeping Jack still.  _ God,  _ Jack has missed him so much.

“Don’t turn around.” 

The instruction is unwarranted. Jack already knows the routine. Regardless, he remains silent and compliant. The knife and hand pull away and then comes the familiarity of a blindfold covering his eyes. From the material Jack guesses it is one of his own work ties.

He stands idly when Reaper pulls away, waiting for further instructions. There is the click of the light switching on, but his vision remains dark. A familiar hand interlaces with his own. It pulls him, guiding him to follow until he is sitting on the bed. He feels the bed shift beside him, and Jack knows Reaper is sitting there beside him.

Still holding Reaper’s hand Jack studies it with his own. The skin feels rough and dry, either from excessive washing or hard work. Considering Reaper’s craft, it is probably a combination of both. He studies the rough fingers, realising he’s holding his left-hand, Jack shamelessly caresses the ring finger. There is no wedding band, though one cannot feel a ring’s tan line.

Reaper lets out a low chuckle. “I knew you were a romantic.” The hand pulls away from Jack. “Now I know you’re sentimental as well.”

Dread coils inside him. Jack knows exactly what Reaper is referring to. There is still a framed photo of him with Vincent on the bedside table. If Reaper has been watching him sleep, he would know that Jack still does not touch Vincent’s side of the bed either.

There is a loud clack from what Jack assumes is the photo being set face down with malice.

“I’ve been thinking of you.” Reaper says.

“I saw.” Jack wears a faint smile at the memory, but mostly at having the conversation steer away from Vincent. “The police called me in.”

“A personal delivery? What excellent customer service.” 

“You should be more careful,” Jack snaps, “they could tell it was for me.”

Reaper snorts. “That was the point.”

Jack opens his mouth to retaliate but nothing seems like a good enough response. He settles for a frustrated sigh.

“Did you tell them anything?”

Jack visibly recoils. Is that what Reaper thought of him? “Of course not…” 

“Of course, you didn’t.” Reaper echoes. He pushes Jack to lie on the bed.

Jack lets out a surprised noise, he would’ve reacted more indignantly at having his emotions so brazenly overlooked, but Reaper is quick to straddle his hips.

He can feel Reaper hovering over him. He feels Reaper’s breath tickling his neck when he leans down to whisper in his ear, “Thank you for protecting me, Jackie.” And forces Jack into a rough kiss.

Jack melts too easily into it. It subdues the frustration in him. His hands find their way onto Reaper’s hips. Gripping them, wishing he could see the man above him. The excitement has him feeling lightheaded and his dick hard.

There is no Vincent’s side of the bed that night.

**Author's Note:**

> Ah, the classic fade-to-black. So tasteful. Much classic. Thank you so much for (re-)reading. <3
> 
> I do have plans and a trajectory on where I want to take this. But, I can't promise an upload date. My bad, fam.


End file.
